Fitz Family Christmas
by Plastic Bats Can Fly
Summary: In the winter of their third week at university, Fitz invites Simmons to his family home for Christmas. Story from prompts on tumblr.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey, guys. This is an upload of a story I wrote based on prompts on tumblr, and published on there. The original prompt was for Jemma to visit Fitz's family at Christmas, and for them to be quite crzily Scottish.

-

"I jus' want to warn you, before we go inside, that my family can be a bit… much." Fitz said as they stood outside at the end of the path that led to his childhood home. It was exactly as she'd expected it, a semi-detached 2 bedroom with a wreath on the door and rather damp tinsel on the rusted gate, which he unlatched and kicked open with a practised air, dragging their bags up to the front door.

"You've said that about five times since the airport. They can't be that bad." Simmons assured him. She was far more worried about what his family would think of her than what she'd think of them. She desperately wanted them to like her, and the intensity of this desire confused her, frankly. She supposed she just didn't want Christmas to be awkward, as she'd be staying the whole holiday. Her parents were visiting her aunt, who had recently immigrated to Australia, and as soon as Fitz had found out she had no one to spend the holidays with he had his phone out and was dialling. Five minutes later, she was invited to come home with him this year. It had all happened so quickly, she hoped the Fitz family didn't resent her intrusion.

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of Fitz knocking on the door. She heard a dog barking, and in a moment the door was open, and a large man whose fair, curly hair and broad grin could only have made him Fitz's father was standing there. She started to smile, but it faltered in surprise as she looked down and saw him wearing a kilt. She'd always assumed that was more of a rural tradition, not something she'd come across in the largest city in Scotland, but she shrugged mentally. To each their own.

"Come in, fer Jesus' sake, get yourselves out of this cold!" He rumbled in a deep, Scottish baritone. She looked at Fitz, who almost seemed to be avoiding her eyes as he stepped inside, muttering a quiet "Hi, Dad, this is Jemma" before dumping the bags at the foot of the stairs. Jemma followed him in, smiling at his father as she went, and was hit by the smell of ginger and oranges before she was physically hit by a small, furry animal. She almost fell over at the impact, but Fitz grabbed her arm to steady her.

"You ok?" he asked, and after she nodded he crouched down and said to the dog, "Calm down, Sally!" Sally didn't listen, only got more excited, lunging for Fitz and knocking him backwards. He caught himself on his hands, laughing and trying to push away the dog who was now leaping up to lick his face. "Yes- mmph- I missed you too, girl. Calm _down_, will ye?" His accent had been seeming to grow stronger every minute they spent in his home country and here, in his family home, his burr was as thick as that of the taxi driver who'd brought the from the airport. She found it endearing, and couldn't help but smile down at him.

"Get yerself gone, ye daft animal, let him up!" Mr. Fitz grabbed Sally's collar and pulled her away and out of the room so Fitz could stand back up. "Y'alright there, son?" he asked when he returned.

"Yes, ta, Dad. Where's Mum?"

"In the kitchen. Hang on- MARY!" Mr. Fitz's booming voice rang through the house, and it was all Jemma could do not to physically jump at the sound. Leo rolled his eyes, and held his hand out for her coat. She smiled at him and slipped it off, handing it to him before smoothing down her skirt self-consciously.

The kitchen door opened, the smell of ginger intensifying. "I can hear ye, Malcolm, there's no need to bellow the place down. Are they here?" A short, round woman with wild red hair came into the living room wearing a flour covered apron over her dress.

"No, I just thought I'd start yellin' fer no reason. Of course they're here, woman!" Malcolm replied, gesturing to a returning Fitz, who'd stowed his and Jemma's coats under the stairs.

"Well, I can see that. Oh, come here, Leo, let me look at ye." She held Fitz- _Leo_- by the shoulders and looked him up and down. "Yer too skinny. Ye don't eat well enough over there." She scowled at him, and looked so much like him in that moment that Jemma couldn't help but smile.

"You say that every year, Mum. I eat fine, Simm- Jemma's a good cook, she's been teachin' me." He replied, shooting Jemma a smile. Mary turned to look at her, and she felt a lot like a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming truck. She crossed the room and held her hand out.

"Jemma Simmons. P-pleased to meet you." She cursed herself for stammering, it was a habit she'd had as a young teenager that she thought she'd all but grown out of. She glanced at Leo and knew he'd noticed from the way he was looking searchingly at her, and the way he moved to stand by her side. His mother looked between the two of them, then took Jemma's hand and shook it.

"Mary Fitz. Glad te hear ye've been takin' care of my boy." She smiled warmly, and Jemma breathed an internal sigh of relief. Mary started suddenly, dropping Jemma's hand and running back into the kitchen with a cry of "don't ye dare move, either of ye!"

Simmons looked at Leo for information, but he just shrugged and looked at Malcolm, who rolled his eyes. "Ye know what she gets like, lad. Actually, hang on, I know what she'll want in a second." He rushed upstairs, and Leo groaned loudly.

Before Jemma could ask what was wrong, Mary returned, balancing a tray of ginger cookies on one hand and holding a camera in the other. She set the cookies down on the coffee table, then pointed the camera at them both. "Say cheese!" Jemma smiled reflexively, and the flash went off. Mary looked at the picture on the small screen, then scowled up at Leo again. "Leo Fitz, you smile and put your arm aroun' that girl right _now_ or so help me Jesus, I'll-"

"Alright, Mum!" Leo cried, and gave Simmons an apologetic half smile before putting his arm around her. Not around her shoulders, like she'd been for some reason expecting, but around her waist. The muscles in his arm tightened, bringing her closer, their sides pressed together. She couldn't remember having ever been this close to him, but all the time they'd spent in labs together, she must have been. He smelled of his usual cologne and ever so faintly of solder. It wasn't a smell she'd ever noticed before.

Mary cleared her throat and this time Jemma _did_ jump. She'd just been caught _smelling_ Fitz! By his _mother_! She was ready to die of embarrassment, but manage to plaster a smile on to her face long enough for another picture to be taken. Once it was over, Fitz let go of her. She felt oddly cold, even though the house was warm.

"That's lovely, that is," Mary said, looking at the photo. "Honestly, lad, did ye think I'd let ye get away with bringin' a girlfriend home for the firs' time ever, and not take a wee photo? Now I can prove to Gladys across the way that you're not" she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "…_gay_."

She didn't seem to have noticed that both Leo and Jemma had frozen while she was speaking. Leo was staring at his mother in horror, and Jemma could already feel a bright blush working its way up her face.

"Have some ginger cookies, they're fresh. Yer Uncle Rory'll be here soon, so best get started afore he eats 'em all!"

"Mum." Leo's voice came out sounding quite strangled. "Jemma an' I, we aren't- we're not… y'know… together." He was also going red, she could see from the corner of her eye. She didn't dare look at him fully."

"Don't be daft, lad!" Malcolm sounded from the foot of the stairs, and both halves of Fitzsimmons jumped this time. "D'ye think your mother an' I were born yesterday? We know what it means when a boy brings a girl home fer Christmas. Te sleep in the same room, no less!"

Leo went even redder, and muttered "I'm sleeping on the floor."

"Suuuure y'are. Wha'ever you say." Malcolm tapped the side of his nose and winked. Jemma felt like she might spontaneously combust out of sheer mortification right there in the Fitz's living room.

"Dad!" Fitz yelled. "We're _no' datin'_! We're jus' friends, honestly! Really, really good _friends_." Leo sat down on the sofa and picked up a ginger biscuit. He bit into it viciously, and Jemma took this as a cue to mean the subject was closed. She smiled weakly at both of his parents, before joining him on the sofa (as far away from him as she could physically sit) and picking up a biscuit herself.

"Mmmm! These are lovely, Mrs Fitz!" she enthused, desperate to change the subject.

"Thank you, m'dear," Mary replied with a beaming smile, just as eager to move on. "Malcolm, don't jus' stand there, play somethin'! It's Christmas isn' it?" Leo groaned again, and Jemma looked around confused, until she saw what was on the stairs behind Mr Fitz.

"Are those… bagpipes?" She was surprised by how traditional the Fitz's were, considering they lived in Glasgow, and had raised the progressive, forward-thinking Leo.

"They are indeed, ma bonnie wee lass!" Malcolm replied, and out of the corner of her eye Jemma saw Leo rubbing his temple, a sure sign he was getting irritated. "Anythin' ye'd like me ta play?"

Her mind went blank. Did she know any bagpipe songs? What songs can one even play on the bagpipes? "Um, whatever you like to play best?"

"Aye, well then how abou' Amazing Grace? 'Tis a classic, after all."

"That sounds lovely." Jemma smiled. Sitting next to her best friend, eating a delicious homemade cookie, she couldn't help but be amused by everything that had happened to them in the past ten minutes. She looked at Fitz, still rubbing his temples, and nudged him slightly. He looked up at her, and smiled too. He relaxed back into the sofa and she relaxed back next to him as his father began to play. After all, they could handle anything: embarrassment, awkwardness or overly enthusiastic dogs as long as they faced it together.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This one's quite a bit shorter (don't worry, that doesn't last)

-

During the evening, the Fitz family home had been a warm, inviting place, what with it being full of large Scots (and one slightly scrawny Scot) and good cooking. Jemma had spent the whole time squashed between Leo and Mary on the sofa, apart from when she rose to greet Uncle Rory and the cousins, and when they'd all gone to the dining table for Leo's welcome home feast. At one point, Sally (their pet terrier) had crept back in, climbed onto Leo's lap and fallen asleep. She'd ended up sprawled across both his and Jemma's laps, and Fitz had tried to gently nudge the dog off to save Jemma's skirt only for her to stop him, insisting she didn't mind. So with a furry heater spread over her legs, and being forced to move closer to Leo so as to not make an uncomfortable gap for Sally (of course that was the reason. It had nothing to do with that pleasant feeling she'd had when she was pressed to his side that afternoon, or the fact that she'd discovered she quite enjoyed the scent of solder she could now easily detect on his clothes), she'd been very cosy.

The same was not true now. She was lying in bed- _Fitz's_ bed, as he'd taken the floor- and she was actually a little cold. As a British native, she was no stranger to minus temperatures, but Scotland seemed much frostier, and it was the middle of December. She felt fidgety, too, and wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the unfamiliar bed. She'd expected (not hoped, certainly not that) his bed would smell of him, but he'd not been home for so long they simply smelled of fresh linen. Mary must have made sure the sheets were clean ready for their arrival.

Jemma smiled to herself. She liked the Fitz family. They were a little boisterous, and now she could see where her partner got his temper from, but they were also kind and welcoming. She craned her neck to look down at Fitz on the floor beside her. He was awake, and she saw him chafing his arm slightly under the quilt.

Oh, how could she have not thought? If she was cold up here, he must be freezing down there on the floor! She sat up, and whispered "Fitz. Hey, Fitz."

He rolled over to look at her and replied, his voice low with tiredness "Wha' is it, Jemma?" He rubbed his eyes a little, and the sight of him looking all bleary and ruffled in the scant moonlight sneaking under his curtains made a part of her she hadn't even known was there melt inside. He was _adorable_.

"Jemma?" He asked again, shaking her out of her reverie. She really needed to stop getting lost in her thoughts- that had been happening a lot today, especially around Fitz. He sat up, trying to see her face, but the moonlight was coming from behind her and he couldn't make out her features.

"You should come to bed with me." She immediately flushed, cursing how bad that had sounded. This was going to be an awkward conversation, she could already tell. That had been happening a lot today, too.

"What?" His voice cracked slightly with disbelief. "Um, are you alrigh'?"

"I'm fine, but you're not. It's freezing, you can't sleep on the floor. Just get in." She lifted the covers and gestured for him to join her, the moonlight falling on her legs where her soft nightdress had ridden up to her mid-thigh. Fitz stared for a moment, transfixed, before tearing his eyes away to look back up at her.

"I'm fine down here. I'm used to the cold, I'm Scottish." He flashed his usual cheeky grin, and she smiled back reflexively, but wasn't about to let him get away that easily.

She folded her arms. "Either you get in here, or I come down there."

He considered for a moment, then shrugged and lay back down, apparently calling her bluff with a blunt "suit yerself". She started to clamber out of bed, and he stood up with a sigh. "Alrigh', you mad woman, I'm coming." He said, clambering in next to her very carefully, as though trying not to touch her, though they'd been pressed together all day. The bed was only so wide though, and Jemma found she could easily cuddle up a little closer- in for a penny, in for a pound. She wanted to recover that warmth she'd felt earlier, that she knew instinctively had nothing to do with actual temperature, and everything to do with her trusted partner… who was still leaning away.

"Come on, you big baby, it's not so bad. Warmer this way, so we can get to sleep easier." She was now flush against his side, head resting against his shoulder.

"You can maybe," he grumbled under his breath, but he wound his arms around her, knowing he'd never win. They seemed to fit perfectly, and Jemma felt more at peace than she could ever remember being. She knew there would be yet more awkwardness in the morning, but for now she was warm and safe in Leo's arms, and soon the both of them were asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz woke slowly, the winter sunlight seeping through his eyelids. He was _incredibly_ comfortable and warm, he noted as his arms reflexively tightened around the woman in his arms and he buried his nose further into the crook of her neck.

Wait.

What?

_What the bloody hell?!_ His eyes snapped open, to find he was cuddling Jemma Simmons, his best friend, his partner, his… he wasn't even sure now. He cast his mind back frantically, then recalled the conversation last night, her convincing him to join her in bed due to the cold. Right, that was it. She was just mother-henning him, like usual. Rational explanation. Perfect. He could feel his racing pulse slow down as he tried to ease his arm out from under her without waking her.

The sound of a throat being cleared set his heart hammering again. He looked over to find his mother standing, leaning against the doorjamb, a smirk on her face. _Oh no._

"This is wha' ye call _no' datin'_ then, Leo?" Her smirk grew wider at the plain distress on his face. "There's really no need to hide it, she's lovely, me an' yer dad are happy fer ye that ye've found-"

"Mum" Leo hissed, desperately trying not to wake Jemma up. "It's no' what it- She… I… Look, I'll explain later, jus' get out!" He briefly considered throwing a pillow at her, but realised he'd been signing his own death warrant. Besides, she seemed to have got the message.

"Alrigh', alrigh'. I'm goin'." She turned to leave, but he could hear her chuckling to herself as she closed the door behind her. He groaned quietly, still trying to extricate his arm with very little luck.

His movements must have woken her, he could see her eyelids flutter and she moaned in satisfaction of a good night's sleep. The noise sent tremors through him, and then she made things much, much worse by cuddling him closer to her, recovering the small distance he'd put between them.

When her lips brushed his neck he went into full-on panic mode. "Jemma!" He cried, sounding strangled and actually feeling like he couldn't really breathe properly. She opened her eyes, frowned in confusion, then pulled away to look at him.

Then she pulled _away_, almost falling off the far end of his bed, her face flaming. He knew his own wasn't much better.

"F-Fitz! God, I'm s-s-so s-sorry!" He'd not known her to stutter that badly for nearly a year now, so he knew she was just as mortified as him. Honestly, could this whole holiday even get any more awkward, between his mum insisting they were dating, his dad playing the bagpipes every five minutes, his cousins _staring at Jemma's chest al night_ and now this… he was just about ready to get on a plane back to New York and spend Christmas there.

"It's alrigh' Jemma. We were both jus' a wee bit jet-lagged, I think." He tried to brush it off, like his every nerve ending wasn't sparking electricity, like his heart wasn't pounding like he'd just swam the channel. He needed this to be normal, for them to be able to go back to being how they were this time yesterday, bickering about obscure Doctor Who trivia in the line for the flight gate at JFK. _That_ was what he wanted, not… this. Not his eyes being drawn to her short nightdress _again dammit Leo_ or noticing how her hair framed her face messily in a way that made him wish he could reach over and _this is what I'm talking about Leo, you can't think of her like that._

He needed to escape. He muttered something about brushing his teeth and all but ran from the room. H started towards the bathroom, then froze and backtracked a few steps to the airing cupboard, deciding to grab some towels and have a long, cleansing, possibly _cold_ shower.

-

In hindsight, he thought, he really should have thought this through better. He'd emerged from the shower, wrapped his towel round his waist and hurried back across the landing to get dry in his warm bedroom. He'd done all this completely on autopilot, the habit of a lifetime, and only realised his mistake two seconds after opening his door, hearing Jemma's scream and clutching her blouse to her chest to cover her underwear.

_The universe hates me._

"S-sorry!" He slammed the door shut and stood staring at it for a second. The cold air was now causing him to shiver slightly, and his father chose this moment to emerge from his parents' room.

"Ach, there ye are, lad! Come wi' me, I've got somethin' for ye."

_The universe really hates me._

Leo allowed himself to be steered into his parents' bedroom- _at least it's warmer here_- and then, to his surprise, was presented with a bath robe.

"Ta, Dad." He grinned as he put it on, relieved. When his dad had said he'd got something for him, he was afraid it would be something in his father's usual vein of not-so-subtly-hinting gifts. Like another Celtic away shirt, or a book about Rugby or something. A bath robe was a useful thing in this situation, though, so crisis averted. "Well, I'll go an' get some cereal or somethin'…" He made to leave, but was stopped by Malcolm's large hand clamping down on his shoulder.

"Woah, lad, I've no' given ye your Christmas present yet!"

Dread curled in Leo's stomach. "It's only the 23rd, Dad."

"I know, but I want ye to wear it on Christmas day, and we need to check it fits. Yer mum'll alter it tomorrow if not. She swears ye've lost weight."

"She says that every year," Fitz replied automatically, his heart sinking. Another football strip, then.

"Still, it won' hurt tae check." His father moved to the wardrobe, rooting in the back for something. When he pulled out what he was looking for with a satisfied smile, Leo's eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"Is that… a _kilt_?!"

It _was_ a kilt, and Leo easily recognised the tartan of the Stuart of Brute clan, to which his family belonged. He had certainly not been expecting this.

"Well, o' course it's a kilt!" Malcolm replied, setting it on the bed before turning to Fitz with a surprisingly serious look in his eye. "Yer a grown man now, Leo. Ye've flown off, and yer makin' yer own way in the world, but I want ye to always remember where it is ye come from. Wha'ever else ye may become, ye'll always be a Fitz, an' ye'll always be my son, an'… I'm proud of ye."

Fitz was stunned. He had never- _never- _heard his dad say that before. He'd never even dreamed it possible. He wasn't a strong, proud Scotsman like any of the other men in his family, he was a small, geeky scientist who actively avoided going outside of he could possibly help it. He felt a lump form in his throat, and swallowed and blinked until the sudden surge of intense emotion passed.

"Go on, take it to your room. Don' forget tae knock first this time!" Malcolm guffawed loudly, and Fitz flushed, and everything was normal again. He grabbed the kilt, and went for the door. When he reached it, he paused and looked back.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Yer welcome, son."


	4. Chapter 4

Leo belatedly realised that he'd forgotten to tell Jemma about his mum walking in on them that morning when his knock on the bedroom door received no reply, meaning she must have gone downstairs. He went in and hurriedly dried and dressed, his jeans halfway on before he remembered he was supposed to be trying on the kilt. He put it on with a white button down and some thick socks before heading down to meet his fate.

When he walked into the living room, Jemma was sitting on the sofa eating a bacon sandwich, which she nearly choked on when she spotted him. Or rather, what he was wearing.

"Um… nice kilt." She murmured, blushing a little. This wasn't good, things were still awkward between them.

_Problem solve, Fitz!_ "I dunno, bit chilly" he joked, trying for and somehow managing his usual cheeky grin. She smiled back, just like she always did, and he felt the dynamic between them click back into place, or near enough.

All in all, he was in a pretty great mood when he entered the kitchen to find his mother standing there, arms folded, smirk firmly in place.

_And there goes my good mood_.

She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped dead when she saw the kilt. "Oh, _Leo_!" she cried, rushing over to hug him, sarcastic comments completely forgotten. This kilt was turning out to be the best thing that had happened to him since a certain biochemist had knocked on his door in their first week of uni. "Ye look so handsome," Mary was gushing, "how does it fit?" Before he could answer, she pulled on the waist band, there was a small gap. "I knew it. I knew ye weren't eatin' properly!"

"Give over, Mum, it's a tiny amount. I eat fine, Jemma sees to tha'." He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words left it, but the damage was done. She was smirking again, and he decided an immediate change of subject is in order. "This sandwich for me?" He walked over to the work surface, where a plate containing a bacon sandwich was waiting.

"Yes. Now, while you eat it, take off tha' kilt and I'll run an' take it in a little"

"Cheers, Mum. I can't take it off, Jemma's just out there. Can't ye do it tomorrow?" He bit into the sandwich with gusto.

"It's nothin' she's no' seen before." Leo inhaled a bit of crust and choked hard. "Besides," she carried on smoothly, "ye should wear it to the cèilidh tonight." He choked harder and Jemma rushed in, worried by the sound.

"Fitz!" she cried, rushing to him and pounding on his back until he could breathe again. Her hand rubbed circles where she'd hit him, and she was still gazing up at him with concern glowing in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thanks" he assured her, smiling weakly down at her. She didn't stop rubbing his back, which he was disturbingly happy about.

His mother was watching them, looking like the cat that had got the cream. He squared his shoulders and scowled at her. "We're no' goin' to a cèilidh tonight, Mum, that's ridiculous."

She scowled back at him, and he could feel his confidence draining away. Why could he not refuse these women anything?! "An' how's that?" Mary asked darkly. Simmons looked between them, torn between confusion and worry.

"Well, firs' of all, I hate dancing," he replied, not missing Jemma's eyes widening. "Second, there probably won' be a caller an' Jemma doesn't know any of the steps-"

"Ye've got plenty of time tae teach her, it's no' til seven." Leo and Jemma both gaped at her, and she seized the opportunity to go in for the kill. "Besides, I see my son- my only child- so rarely, I jus' wan' to show him off in his clan tartan with a pretty young lass at his side. Jus' once, before he leaves me again an' flies back to New York fer months on end, barely calls, I get no pictures sent…" She pulled a tissue out of her apron pocket to dab at her eyes, Leo had to commend the performance.

He looked at Jemma and found her looking at him almost accusatorily. She'd completely fallen for it. Sighing heavily, he knew he'd never be able to win against both of them. "Alrigh', we'll go to your bloody cèilidh."

"Excellen'! Now, take off tha' kilt an' get practising."

Jemma squeaked and her face flamed again, Leo's scowl intensified.

"_I'll go up an' change._"

-

Jemma was very much in two minds about this cèilidh plan. On the one hand, there was a surprising amount of different dances and steps and variations on those steps, and her brain was getting quite muddled. On the other hand, she had spent most of the last hour and a half very close to Fitz, and she got to feel that pleasant warmth she'd been feeling every time he touched her since they'd arrived at his house, and she got to smell that solder scent she'd discovered she enjoyed so much. On the other _other_ hand, this was probably contributing to her head muddle.

Fitz was teaching her the ballroom hold which, as he'd promised, was pretty much exactly what it sounded like: one of her hands was in his, her other hand on his shoulder and his other hand on her waist. It felt terribly intimate, and her face flushed for the millionth time that day.

He obviously noticed, as he dropped his hands and said "look, it'll be fine. We'll just do a few jigs to please my crazy mother, then we'll sit in the corner and get very, _very_ drunk. Tha' sound alrigh'?"

She grinned up at him, her heart swelling with affection for him and the way he could make anything seem better. "It sounds perfect, Fitz."

He beamed down at her, taking her back into hold, nudging her a little closer to him. She happily obliged, but his smile had reminded her of something. "Fitz?" He looked down at her, eyebrow raised. "Did I do something to embarrass myself last night and not realise it?"

"No, I don' think so. Plenty happened to embarrass _me,_ but you came out smellin' o' roses. Everyone loved you. Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just, your mother keeps smirking at me when she thinks I'm not looking. Am I paranoid, or…?" She trailed off as Leo dropped his hands again, this time taking an actual step back as though she'd just announced she was contagious. "Fitz?"

"No, tha's… Tha's no' it. She, um, my Mum, she walked in on us. This morning. In bed." He was staring determinedly at her feet, like her socks had all the mysteries of the universe knitted into them. Her brain stopped ticking for a moment, then went into overdrive.

"_Oh my god._ Fitz, why didn't you tell me?!" This was bad. She hadn't been entirely sure Leo had managed to convince his parents they weren't an item last night, and now she was certain he never would. Mary's words came back to her: _a pretty young lass at his side_. She definitely thought Fitz and her were dating. Oh god, what were they going to do?

"-An' then Dad gave me that kilt, an' said he was _proud of me_, an' he's never said that- no' once- so-" Fitz was rambling about something or other, but she'd tuned him out as she racked her brain for a way to explain this situation to Mr and Mrs Fitz. None was forthcoming. Time for Fitzsimmons to spring into action then, she supposed.

"Fitz." She cut through his mile-a-minute chatter and he obediently fell silent. "We need to tell them the truth."

"I _tried_ tha' last nigh'. I dunno if you noticed, but they're no' goin' for it."

"So what, we're supposed to just let them think we're dating?"

His silence was all the answer she needed.

"_Fitz_!"

"Well, it'll stop her from naggin' me to get a girl every time I call- which I do, often, despite wha' she'd have ye believe- and my dad said he was _proud of me_ this mornin', and at least part of that's go' to be somethin' to do with baggin' a beautiful girlfriend-" she flushed _yet again_ despite herself- "an' it's doubtful we'd be able to convince 'em anyhow."

"So you want to lie to your parents."

"Essentially. Can I coun' on ye?"

She sighed and held out her arms to take up hold again. "Always."

-

When they paid the doorman and entered the hall, Fitz had never been so happy to see a dance caller up on stage in his life. Uncle Rory and his cousins waved them over from the corner. Despite Ian and Duncan both having brought dates, Fitz saw how their eyes were immediately drawn to Simmons' cleavage in her admittedly rather low cut dress _not that he'd been looking_. He had to say, one good thing about this charade was he could openly glare at them for checking her out like that. They noticed his frosty look, and both backed off immediately. He couldn't help but smirk.

Uncle Rory greeted him with a hearty slap on the back. "Good tae see yer wearin' the tartan, there, Leo! And Jemma, lass, yer lookin' lovely." Jemma smiled and thanked him, her arm linked through Leo's, looking resplendent in her white dress. She was easily the most beautiful woman there, though he was becoming aware that he may be slightly biased, and (loathe as he was to admit his mother had been right) it felt good to have her on his arm.

They went to get drinks from the bar, and soon they were pleasantly tipsy, joking and chatting with each other, in their own world of science and geekery. Then Mary was prodding them out of their seats and onto the floor just in time for the band to strike up Strip the Willow. With the dance caller's help, they managed to get through the couple of dances. They were neither of them very good, about passable, but they returned to their table to see his mother glowing with pride. It was an odd experience for Leo: he wasn't used to this feeling of acceptance and belonging among his family. He knew who to thank for it though, and reached down and took Jemma's hand, interweaving their fingers.

She looked up at him with a smile that stunned him with its beauty. She seemed to radiate happiness and merriment, and it was infectious. He'd never had this much fun at a cèilidh before, and he was sure if he was here with anyone else, he'd hate it.

His dad tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned reluctantly from Jemma to see what he wanted. Malcolm pointed upwards, a satisfied smirk on his face. They followed his gaze, and saw what was hanging from the rafters above their heads.

_And there goes the good mood again_.

-

Jemma's stomach dropped through the floor at the sight of the mistletoe above her and Leo. She really didn't want their first kiss to be in front of his family. No, scratch that. She didn't want to kiss Fitz at all, did she? He was her best friend, and this would not be their _first_ kiss, it would be their _only_ kiss.

Because she couldn't really see a way out of it. His family thought they were dating, they had come to the party together, and they were directly under the mistletoe. They were going to have to go through with it.

Fitz appeared to have come to the same conclusion, since he was looking down at her with a determined look on his face. Before she'd had time to brace herself, he took her by the waist and pressed his mouth to hers.

He didn't smell of solder now so much as cologne and whisky, the latter of which she could taste on him ever so slightly. Her arms came up of their own accord around his neck, pulling him down further into her, so he was bending her backwards slightly, pressing her to him for balance. He angled his head slightly for a better angle, and she matched him by adjusting her angle, too. They worked together perfectly, the same ideal team they'd always been, the same single entity: Fitzsimmons. She sighed automatically into the kiss and then their mouths were open and everything was electricity and rich whisky and that heat was back, burning more intensely than anything she'd ever felt.

One of his cousins clapped him on the back, jolting them apart and jovially suggesting they get a room. She glanced around, embarrassed to see several people watching them. When she looked back up at Leo, he was watching her intently, and she was completely caught in his eyes. She'd never known them to be so deep, so blue. They'd both dropped their hands, but were still standing so close their chests brushed. The heat still roared through her and she had no idea what to do now. She stepped away, breaking his trance, and he held out his arm for her.

She took it, and he led her back to the bar, ordering more whisky, stronger this time. She agreed with him, more alcohol was necessary. She couldn't begin to process what had happened between them just yet, so she needed to stave off rational thought. They both finished their drinks in a single gulp, neither meeting the other's eye.


	5. Chapter 5

He was drunk. He knew that much, he could feel the sluggish buzz in his veins, feel the closeness in his head and the dullness lingering on the edge of thoughts that were taking too long to exist.

He was not as drunk as her. She was _completely pissed_. He'd spent over two years at university with her now, seen her at parties, had a rather inebriated call just after midnight on New Year's Day last year, but he'd never seen her like this. She was giggling uncontrollably at a joke she herself had told so quickly and so slurred that he hadn't caught a word of it. Her head lolled against his shoulder as she clung to him to keep from falling off her chair. His heart thudded loud at the closeness.

She stopped laughing suddenly, and before he knew it she was up and running for the (thankfully nearby) toilets. He ordered a glass of water from the bar and followed her, stopping outside the door, shifting nervously on his feet. He could see his parents watching them from their table. This was going to be interesting to explain tomorrow morning. In fact, between tonight's awkwardness and the inevitable hangover, he really hoped that he'd somehow be caught in some kind of time stasis and tomorrow would never come.

She emerged from the ladies' room looking awful, her eyes brimming with tears from the retching and her hands shaking. She took the glass with a tremulous smile and started gulping the water down.

His father was by his side then, holding their coats into his hands and telling him there was a taxi waiting outside. Fitz thanked him, then guided his still weak partner out of the hall and into the fresh air, which he gulped down in an effort to clear his head. It was drizzling slightly, and they almost slipped a few times on their way down the steps. She was clinging to him for dear life when they reached the bottom.

He steered her into the taxi, and only had time to give the driver his address before she burst into tears and buried her face in his shoulder. He had genuinely no idea what was going on in her head, but he awkwardly rubbed her back and muttered useless, impotent reassurances until they reached his house. He dug in his pocket for some money and his keys, and soon they were in his living room. He sat her on the sofa and went to get more water.

Did he trust himself to try and make food? It would help soak up the alcohol and lessen the hangover, but in his current state he might cut off a finger or burn the house down. He eventually just grabbed the biscuit tin and brought that to her.

She'd stopped crying, and was now sitting staring at his parents' carpet. She looked so helpless, hair wet from the worsening rain and skin pale from vomiting. He sat next to her and she looked up at him with despondent eyes.

He sucked in a harsh breath as he was overtaken by the mad urge to kiss her again. She looked a wreck, smelled of alcohol and sick and was on the edge of tears but he had still never wanted to kiss someone so badly. He took a very large gulp of water, trying to drive the drunkenness away and reinstall some clarity.

"Fitz." Her voice was weak and scratchy, but it commanded his attention like nothing he'd ever known. "I'm so sorry. I ruined everything."

"Don' be daft." His arm came around her shoulder and drew her closer without his consent. "We both jus' got a bit drunk, tha's all."

"We kissed."

He closed his eyes, trying to will the conversation away, he wasn't ready for it. He wasn't ready to ask himself how he felt about the woman next to him, even though the answer was becoming clearer with each minute she spent in his parent's house.

"We were under the mistletoe, 'snot like we had a choice. 'S tradition." He thought for a second that he was going to throw up too, but that wasn't vomit, it was words. "Bloody traditions. I hate this place, Jemma. I bloody _hate_ it. Everythin' ma parents do is traditional. When- when I told 'em I wanted to take my exams early, go to university, when I said I wanted tae make somethin' o' myself, d'ye know what they said? It was 'Oh, Leo, isn't it time you stopped dreamin' abou' goin' off an' buildin' robots an' though' abou' joinin' us down at the factory? It's a Fitz family tradition!' Well I hate it! I'm never goin' tae be like them, and they canna seem tae get it through their thick _skulls_. I-" he broke off, breathing heavily, years of repressed frustration burning his throat and eyes.

"The whole bloody bagpipes-an'-kilt thing they do," he continued, slower this time, more measured, but still unable to stop, "it's all a con. They draw you in all 'oh isn't the Scottish traditional thing fun?' bu' wha' you don' see is how it _eats at people_. My parents' idea of Scotland does'n' have room for scientists an' engineers. It's a world of factory workers an' shop assistants an' no' ever trying to be _different_. Well, I've been different my whole life, an' I don' plan on stoppin' now. So they can take back their kilts an' their cèilidhs, I don' want them."

"You don't mean that, Fitz, you-"

"I _do_! I wan' _out_ of this place!"

"You _are_ out. You're the brightest young engineer on the scene, and you're only 19!" She rubbed his back, like she was his mother, and thought made him hurt. "And they are proud of you, your dad said so just this morning." He nodded, willing her logic to convince him, but it didn't seem to be winning against years of resentment and perceived disappointment, sitting in his stomach like a hot stone.

"And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you too."

He couldn't help it. There was too much emotion in him, too much new feeling and old feeling and feeling that was beyond his understanding. This time, when his mouth met hers it was more forceful, more demanding. He was drunk and needy, and so was she, and she tasted sour, and none of this was right. But he couldn't stop, so he was pressing her back into the sofa cushions, and she was making sounds that he was choosing to think were sounds of pleasure, though he knew it could just as easily be protest. The thought made him press harder, wanting to wash away her doubt- his doubt- wanting to wash away _everything_. He was scaring himself, but he couldn't stop, and neither could she.

One hand was woven in his hair, her nails scratching his scalp and creating sparks where they did that fed the fire in his chest, which the other hand was pressed against. They were half lying down, he was between her legs, their tongues melding together messily. He was keeping her from falling off by gripping her thigh where her dress had slipped up, and his hand was inching higher without his permission. Her back was arched, straining up towards him and when he moved against her she moaned, a sound he felt all the way down to his groin.

Then there was another sound, and another body on there with them. Leo sprung back with a cry to see Sally bouncing up and down on the square half foot not taken up by them, barking at them. Everything seemed to hit him then, leaving him winded and struggling to breathe. He'd kissed her again, more than that, and this time there was no mistletoe to blame. He could only blame himself, and at that moment in time he wasn't sure he'd ever shake the guilt. She was looking up at him, her eyes wide and worried and beautiful, but he couldn't hold their gaze for more than a second. He righted himself, back bolt upright and tense, and she followed suit, watching him as though he may snap. Not that this was an unrealistic expectation, given what had just happened.

"This was a mistake" she said, and he found himself nodding even though a large part of him was screaming that she was wrong. "We're both very drunk, and very emotional. We just need to draw a line under this and move on. We can do that, can't we? Fitz?"

He worked up the courage to look at her, and he knew she was pleading with him to reassure her that they hadn't lost this, hadn't lost the only other person they'd ever found who understood them, who accepted them. And it hit him. His relationship with Jemma was too important, too central to his existence for him to ruin it like this. No matter how he felt for her, it didn't matter. They were partners, they were Fitzsimmons. He couldn't jeopardise that.

"O' course we can. We're partners, aren't we?" She beamed up at him, and his heart ached, but he clamped down on the feeling hard and fast. He turned away again, and picked up the remote. "Now, let's see if we can find somethin' worth watchin' while we finish off these ginger biscuits."


	6. Chapter 6

Jemma blinked her eyes open, cursing the world. It felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to her prefrontal cortex, and then kicked her several times in the lower spine for good measure. She was not in bed, she noticed. She was on the sofa in Fitz's living room, leaned against him. The TV was off, his parents must have done that- _oh god Fitz's parents_. They'd seen them kiss, seen _her_ run off to vomit, and then they must have come in to see her passed out on the couch. On their son. Who they thought she was dating. Who she'd just been drooling on. Fantastic.

She checked the clock, it was just past six in the morning. She dragged herself upright with an audible groan and shuffled into the kitchen, intent on a strong coffee and a banana- she needed to replace all the potassium she lost last night. And the salts. And the vasopressin. And the _self-respect_.

She returned with her coffee and banana and sat this time in the armchair across the coffee table. In between sips, she studied her partner. He was slumped on the sofa, head resting on his forearm on the arm. He was still wearing his kilt. Her head pulsed, and a memory flashed before her eyes: an image of that tartan between her thighs and its owner moved over her. She had to set her mug down before she dropped it.

Her and Fitz- last night, they'd… She shook her head, desperately trying to remember what had happened next, how far it had gone. They… they _hadn't_ had they? She didn't think so, surely she'd be able to feel if they had. Besides, they were both still fully clothed. In last night's dress. Classy.

She remembered the taxi ride home. He'd been crying, terrified that their friendship was over, that his family had lost their apparent affection for her. She half remembered his angry rant, his eyes brimming with tears. She'd tried to comfort him. Then he'd started kissing her. She tried to skip over that, but her mind seemed to want to play it back in excruciatingly minute detail. She remembered the slight scratch of his stubble on her face, the insistence of his hands, the weight of him on her. Sally had interrupted them- the dog was nowhere to be seen now, though she'd curled up next to them while they were watching _It's a Wonderful Life_. They'd talked- she focused, trying to recall exactly what had been said- about the kisses.

They'd agreed to move on.

She wasn't sure how she felt. Grateful that they could go back to the way things had been two days ago, definitely. And yet, part of her was a little disappointed. She shook herself both physically and mentally. _It's nothing, Jemma. You were drunk, he was drunk._ The kiss was just biology, as was her reaction to it. There were no deeper feelings there. Fitz was her partner, her best friend, the other half of her, but he wasn't her lover. He couldn't be, feelings would only get in the way of the dynamic they shared. Brother and sister, that was all- that was perfect. He wanted to excel, to prove his family wrong, though she doubted they were as resistant to his choices as he seemed to believe. He couldn't do that if she held him back, if her head wasn't in the game.

Simmons squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and went upstairs to shower and change, leaving every non-friendship thought she'd ever had for him behind her.

-

Leo was woken by a large weight landing on his lap. He startled awake, looking down to find Sally gazing up at him with big, brown eyes- he got a flash of another pair of brown eyes, infinitely more beautiful- and a lead in her mouth. He groaned, not feeling remotely human enough for walkies. The clock on the mantelpiece told him it was around half seven, and dawn was just about breaking. He pushed Sally off him, muttering "no' now, girl" and righted himself.

Where was Jemma? She must have gone to bed. They'd fallen asleep watching TV, and she always rose before him, regardless of the situation. Now he was thinking about it, he had to admit the situation had looked pretty dire for a moment there. He'd practically molested her, and god knows what would have happened if Sally hadn't interrupted them. He scratched her ear absent-mindedly, her tail thumping against the ground. They'd agreed to stay friends, not let it affect them. He let out a harsh bark of laughter, it was a little late for that. He was already half in love with her, last night had proven that to him beyond any shadow of a doubt. But there was no way it would ever work. He was too insecure, too paranoid when it came to relationships, and the amount of time they spent together already wouldn't be healthy. They'd made the right decision, regardless of how much his chest hurt. All of him hurt, actually. He needed a black coffee and a paracetemol, and possibly half a pack of bacon.

-

He knocked quietly on his door, hoping he hadn't woke her. After a second, she opened the door. She was showered and dressed, and greeted him with a smile. Now, that was just unfair. He took a kind of perverse comfort in the bags still under her eyes and the slight slope of her shoulders, the signs that she wasn't running at a hundred percent either. He muttered a good morning and gathered some clothes for after his shower- he wasn't making that mistake again.

"Leo." He froze at the sound of his name- his first name- coming from her mouth. He turned to face her, back tense. "You should have a banana. I know you'll have had salt and sugar by now, and something to drink, but you need to replace some potassium. It'll help."

He relaxed with a sigh. This was so like her, to worry about him and try and explain the biology of hangovers to him and tell him to eat a bloody _banana_ at eight in the morning with a killer headache. He smiled at her, genuinely happy that things were back to normal. "I will, after my shower."

She looked relieved, then turned away to start fiddling with her luggage, pulling out her laptop. He left the room, feeling lighter than when he'd gone in.

-

They set her laptop on the kitchen table, and Jemma signed on to the webcam chat for her scheduled call with her parents. Fitz was next to her, as always, he'd been present for many of these throughout the last few years. His mother was bustling away in the kitchen, door propped open, and came to stand in the doorway and watch them.

"Wha's that yer doin' then?"

"We're settin' up a webchat, Mum. Y'know, tha' thing I keep tryin' to get ye to do, but whenever I do ye say 'och, I dunna understand all that nonsense' and then complain at me for no' sending you _postcards_?"

"Oh. Well, ye don'"

"I wouldn' _need _tae if ye'd jus-" Jemma nudged him, not wanting him to get into an argument with his mother already, it was barely ten. He stopped talking obediently, and refocused on the screen, which was dialling her parents.

They answered with a chorus of 'Merry Christmas!' that Fitz and her repeated back.

"You too alright? Not too cold up in Scotland, I hope?"

"Oh, freezin', but ye get used tae it." Jemma grinned at how well Leo got on with her parents. They were intellectual, very eager to chat about complicated issues and subjects. She wondered for a second what it must have been like for him to not have that growing up, and felt a short stab of pity. Then she looked up and saw Mary in the kitchen, humming a Christmas tune to herself, and remembered that he'd been brought up with so much love, too.

"Jemma?" Her mother asked, and Fitz nudged her this time.

"Sorry, Mum. Just thinking. How's Aunt Marie?"

After her parents had hung up, Jemma noticed a friend from university online, a fellow PhD student who was president of the Doctor Who society. She looked at Leo who, reading her mind as usual, hit dial.

"Heeeeey!" Elizabeth cheered when she answered. "If it isn't Fitzsimmons! What up, guys? Excited for the spesh tomorrow?"

"You bet we are, pres! We were just talking about the promos, d'you reckon it's going to be a funny one, or a sad one?"

"Now, _I_ reckon funny, bu' Simmons here's gettin' her tissues ready."

"Well, with the Doctor, I think both is a safe bet, but I'm leaning towards it being sadder than last year." She answered, and the two of them nodded sagely, like she was giving them profound, life-changing advice.

When Elizabeth hung up, they closed the laptop to see Fitz's mother glaring down at them with a face like thunder.

"Leo. A word."

She dragged her protesting son upstairs, leaving a very confused biochemist sitting at the table behind them.


End file.
